


Undying, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, General
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredhel and Idril have a conversation about Elenwe. For the HASA Quickies Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undying, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

She stands alone, a small shadow, on the horizon of earth and rock and on the brink of ice and snow. The cold winds batter her little form, throws her hair in her face and tugs at her worn clothes, but she still remains unmoving.

She has stood there for so long, staring into the iced wilderness, ever since we came here. She wasn’t one of the Noldor who erupted into grateful laughter or a hopeful smile when we reached the edge. She wasn’t one of the Noldor who turned back and cursed the cruel, slowly smothering embrace of Helcaraxë. No, not her. Instead she clutched at my hand tightly, and stared in sheer horror at the promising land before us. She reluctantly left the ice to sleep in the comfort of warm fabric tents and fires that didn’t flicker and certainly.

I watch her, standing unswayed by the cold winds. Turgon frets for her. I fret too, but I somewhat understand why she is here, why she won’t leave the ice.

“It’s simple,” she said to her brother before, as they watched her from the encampment. “The ice and cold was the last she felt of Elenwë. The ice and cold is all she thinks she has left now of her mother.”

I think that I would think the same too, were I in her position.

I sigh and stand from where I sit, holding the flowers we had silently picked together in the morn, and I walk to her.

“Idril.” I kneel so my head is level with hers. “It is time.”

She turns to me with tearful eyes, two discs as blue as frozen lips in the midst of bloodshot red. The heavy knot in my throat tightens, my chest aches at her sight. She thinks that she is alone in this. No, she knows that she isn’t alone, but she thinks that she alone is the one to blame.

“I do not want to go yet,” she says, her voice trembling.

I breathe in the icy air deeply. My body is sore, physically and emotionally. The muscles of my heart have been stretched over too great a surface. She should know better than to think that she is to blame.

“I know, my love, but we must,” I whisper gently. I hold out the flowers to her. “Here.”

I watch her carefully as her little hands, tinged a slight blue from the cold, pick them from my palm. Her golden hair whips at her pail, tear- stained face. Her small red lips are pursed together and turned down at the corners, trembling. Her hands shake as she takes the flowers.

She looks up at me suddenly, sad and angry.

“This should not happen...” her voice trembles. “This is not supposed to happed. We are the Undying. Ilúvatar created us to live, not to die. Why has this happened, why can we not go back and get her?”

It is the wind that stings my eyes, and not her voice. I quickly blink away the tears before they are even there, breathing in again deeply.

“Because... things are not so simple,” I answer her with the best that I can think.

She stares at me with a bold stance, anger and pain still in her eyes, but even the cold cannot stop her from melting. Slowly, the tears spill down her cheeks. Her eyes now only hold pain.

“But why?” she asks and she begins to cry.

My hands automatically drop the flowers to group, and my arms drape around her. Her fingers cling to my white robes helplessly. I kiss the crown of her golden head and hug her tighter.

“I don’t want to go yet,” Idril sobs. “I don’t want to go...”

I don’t bother with hushing her like Turgon and Fingon. I don’t stroke her head gently and tell her that everything is alright, that we will make it through this. It isn’t that I don’t want to make her feel better; it’s because I know that she is still grieving, that she still needs to cry. She’s still holding Elenwë’s hand beneath the ice, even though they parted long ago.

“What if I forget her? What if we all forget her like Grandpapa Finwë has forgotten Míriel? What if I stop loving her?”

At this I frown, and let her go slightly so I can see her face. There is this pure and innocent fear in Idril’s eyes. For a moment, it touches my heart too with its cold wispy fingers and I feel the fear.

“Idril, you will not forget her,” I say gently, wiping her tears. “She is your mother.”

“I cannot remember the words of songs once sung in the halls of Tirion. Who is to say that I will not forget her too?” Idril whispers, looking to the floor.

I put my fingers beneath her chin and gently raise her head up, looking into her eyes sincerely. There is not a single ounce of hope in those eyes. What words can I saw to her to make at least the slightest change in her heart? I’m not as wise as Turgon and I don’t have Fingon or Father’s tongue, words of hope and wisdom in life do not come easily to me.

“Idril...” I fold away the wild locks of gold hair, trying to think of something to say. “Remember this: we are the Undying. We live forever, and so too does our love and our memory. We are all confined to the circles of Arda. We do not say goodbye.”

There is doubt in her eyes, my words haven’t moved her. She takes my hand away from her face and holds it tightly instead.

“Have you forgotten the light of the Two Trees?” I ask her.

She shakes her head.

“No? How about the smell of the flowers in Grandpapa Finwë’s garden, or the feel of your doll, the one with the golden hair that you left behind? Have you yet forgotten them?”

She shakes her head again.

I watch her for a few moments, silent and letting her slowly realize the truth for herself.

“You won’t forget her, Idril. No matter how far you are sundered, you never forget the people whom you love,” I end.

There is only the slightest spark of hope in her eyes, but that is enough for both her and I. It turns out thati don’t need wisdom, only my heart in such cases.

She swallows and throws herself into my waiting arms, hugging me tightly. I close my eyes, I can smell her warmth. I feel her hope and trust in me.

Together we place the flowers down on the ice, not to fare Elenwë goodbye, Idril says to me softly as she places hers down, but to promise her that we will all meet again in happier times. We will be united. Then we walk back to the encampment and away from the ice, leaving the flowers there in the snow, frozen and undying.


End file.
